


No More Monsters (I Can Breathe Again)

by Dracomalfoyy



Series: 23 Ways To Say I Love You [9]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Clint Barton & Phil Coulson Friendship, Clint Barton Angst, Clint Barton Has Issues, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Protective Phil Coulson, have i told you that i love clint barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26706682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracomalfoyy/pseuds/Dracomalfoyy
Summary: Prompt 9 - things you said when I was crying(all prompts stolen from eversncenewyork on tumblr)Title from 'Praying' by Kesha
Relationships: Clint Barton & Phil Coulson
Series: 23 Ways To Say I Love You [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1453279
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	No More Monsters (I Can Breathe Again)

Clint tucked himself as far behind the trailer at the edge of the field as he could, heavily panting. If Barney found him now, he’d be dead as a dodo. He didn’t mean to mess up. It was just that he’d hurt his ribs last night while they were robbing that house, and pulling back on his bowstring made it hard for him to breathe. 

The arrow didn’t land in the centre. In front of a whole crowd. 

As soon as he’d finished his act, Clint had sprinted away from the tent while Barney was distracted. He’d find him eventually but for now, he just wanted to pretend that he wouldn’t. Barney’s form of punishment would be more pain and right now, Clint really couldn’t breathe. He stretched his legs out in front of him, taking deep breaths in to try to ease the tightness in his chest. Clint briefly considered trying to get to a hospital, but that would lead to questions and connections. He’d be in a prison cell quicker than you can say guilty. 

He sat there for 3 hours, watching the crowds slowly filter out as the stalls began to close. Pretty soon he’d have to go back to their trailer and face his brother. Clint tipped his head back, hissing as he knocked the barely concealed cut in his hair. A parting gift from last night. 

Look, here’s the thing. Clint didn’t want to commit any crime. He saw crime when they were on the streets, watched people being mugged in the shadows. It wasn’t his thing. So he could just walk away from his brother. The people he thought he could trust had turned out to be petty criminals who only wanted him for his aim. (Barney had taken to being a criminal easily, and if he didn’t just remind Clint of their dad at times.) Walking away would be a good thing to do. But walking away was also running away, and running away went hand in hand with cold nights and empty stomachs. Clint wasn’t sure if he could do that again now that he’d known warmth. He felt belonging with the people at the circus. Everyone smiled at him here. Some of the carnies ruffled his hair, squeezed his shoulder tightly as he passed by. 

A hand grasped Clint’s shirt, pulling him forward before slamming his aching head back into the metal of the trailer. Clint didn’t need his eyes open to know it was his brother. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Clint!” Clint didn’t even register the words being shouted at him, as he tried to blink through the dizzying lights. 

“Well? Why’d you miss?” Barney clenched his fists as he towered over Clint. He instinctively shrunk back. 

“Banged my ribs up last night. Couldn’t breathe properly. Didn’t mean to fuck up.”

“You fuck up, you become useless, and they kick us out on our asses! I found us a good fucking thing here!” Barney yelled, throwing his arms out. It made Clint flinch, which in turn made Barney angrier. 

“M’sorry.” Clint mumbled, eyes trained on the grass below him. 

“I need them to want you, Clint. Don’t make me offer them something other than talent. I know a few people here who’d take it.” Barney kicked at the grass by Clint, a warning before he stormed off, probably to go fix the mess Clint had made. 

Clint was now shockingly aware that he might not be safe here. Barney’s parting words made his body go cold, replaying all those smiles and touches he’d savoured before. He had to run. He left that night, his near-empty duffle slung over his shoulder as he chewed at his bottom lip. He’d contemplated waking Barney up to say goodbye, but he stared at his brothers sleeping face and only saw the harsh lines of his father. He walked on steadily, didn’t even dare to look back as the second home he’d found grew smaller behind him. 

He ran around solo for a few years. The circus had given him skills that were useful in some lines of work but Clint lacked the formal education most other kids got. He carried out his first mission as a contract killer when he was 15 and gained himself a reputation he was a little proud of. People everywhere knew who he was. They all wanted to meet him. He joined up with a group, some up-and-coming mob who he’d thought wanted him for his talent. He learnt very quickly that he was wrong. Barney was right. 

It was only when he got to SHIELD that Coulson convinced him it wasn’t a crime to survive.   
People smiled at him. (This time he was more cautious. People smiled when they wanted something from you. Barney had laid out all Clint really had to offer years ago behind a dirty trailer.)

He was one year in, still cautious of everything and everyone around him, when it happened again. He’d been sent to London, just a simple surveillance job that might end with an arrow through someone’s eyeball. They’d been spotted and captured a day before extraction, leading to him holding his bleeding out partner in his arms on the floor of a dingy cell somewhere. He knew that his partner wasn’t going to make it. It happened often in their line of work but it hadn’t happened to him yet. Peterson was as young as him and even looked like him. It made watching him die strangely more upsetting, maybe because Clint had been fighting for survival since he was 5 years old. Maybe it was because out of the two of them, he felt Peterson deserved to survive more. Nevertheless, he held him and told him the same empty promises every dying agent heard before it all went dark. He kept hold of him until he was gone, placing his body on the cold floor in the corner, under the cover of the dark. 

Clint sat down, feeling the cold brick through his shirt as he wiped his bloody hands on the thin fabric. Coulson was definitely closing in on his location by now. When he went back to SHIELD, he’d be returning without his partner or the information he’d been sent to watch for. He would be carted off to medical, then down to debrief. Maybe they’d let him shower and change before he was forced into occupational health for a mental health check-up. That was something impossible to avoid with Coulson marching behind him. He buried his head in his hands, dreading the disappointment on Coulson’s face when they got to him and saw Peterson in the corner. He should’ve done more to keep him out of their hands but they’d drugged him, leaving him out of it until it was too late to help. He’d basically killed his first-ever partner and when SHIELD realised that he’d be out on his own again. They wouldn’t want him around. He would serve no purpose. 

By the time extraction arrived to take him home, he’d worked out his plan. He’d go to medical, he’d go to debrief and then he’d run. He knew the hidden corners and back doors at the SHIELD barracks, it would be easy for him to run quick. He didn’t even have to worry about any possessions, everything he needed fit into one backpack. He’d miss his SHIELD bow though. Maybe he could take it with him. He took Coulson’s hand as he helped him up, bowing his head as the medical team passed by with Peterson’s body. He didn’t look up again until he was sat in medical. They informed him of the bruised ribs he already knew about and sent him on his way to debrief, Coulson striding along in front of him. He filled in his report, gave his answers in short sentences and practically sprinted through the door when he was free. He rushed back to his room in the barracks, throwing the few things he wanted to keep into his bag and throwing it up into the vent above his bed. From his room, he could crawl through to the east stairwell, which was always empty this time of day, and slip out the back door by the running track. The forest behind had two guards patrolling every hour so he could probably make it through before any noticed he was gone.

He pulled himself into the vent, carefully sealing it back up when his door was swung open. Coulson marched in, slamming it behind him and locking it. He leant against Clint’s desk, running his left hand over the pristine surface, right hand tucked into his pocket. Coulson sighed heavily before talking. 

“I know you’re in the vent Barton. Just listen to me for 5 minutes, and if I can’t change your mind then I’ll help you leave undetected.” Coulson sounded more fed up than he did after training newbies. He watched his handler tug at his tie, pulling it loose and placing it on the desk beside him. Clint had been nothing but a pain in Coulson’s ass since the day he dragged him into SHIELD. The man was too professional to ever admit it, but Clint could tell. He’d spent a lifetime disappointing people, he knew how to read it on a person. 

“Clint, the first thing I’ll say is that Peterson didn’t die because of you. I haven’t known you long but I’ve known you long enough to know you’ll be blaming yourself.” Phil glanced up at the vent, hoping to see a hint of movement. Clint was a sniper though, so he didn’t so much as twitch. Coulson waited for a second, hoping that Clint was still listening.

“You’re capable of so much Barton. You’ve got potential falling off you in waves.”

“The only thing I'm capable of is being a warm body. That's the one thing I've always been sure of.” The self-depreciation in his agent’s voice was enough to infuriate Coulson more than he’d ever been before. 

“Who told you that, Clint?” he bit out, failing to hide the anger he felt. 

“I’ve been told it my whole life. I ain’t got no purpose past being some company.” Phil could hear the quiet resignation in the young agent’s voice. He’d only been alive for 20 years, and for 20 years he’d been treated like a burden. Phil had never met the people who wronged Clint, and he hoped he never did. No-one deserved to be treated and abused in that way. Clint had been dealt the shittest hand possible and Coulson was determined to change that. 

“Clint, if you honestly believe that then your head is screwed on more backwards than I thought. You did six years of schooling in six months. You came top in every class you were in and beat decade-old records. I’ve got a gut feeling you’re gonna be the best SHIELD agent we’ve ever seen.” 

“You don’t have to lie to me, Sir.” 

“I know and I haven’t lied to you once since I came in here. I believe in you, Clint Barton. And I’m so sorry that it took this long for someone to believe in you.”

“I’m more hassle than I’m worth Phil. It’s all my brother ever told me.”

“I couldn't care less how much hassle you think you are, or what your brother thinks you are. I know you and I trust that you do the right thing. Just stick it out a bit longer.” 

It took a couple of minutes before the vent swung open, followed by Clint jumping out, landing on his bed. His face was stained with tears, making him look even younger than he was. When he’d met Clint last year, he was a bone-tired stick-thin 19-year-old who fought off every hand that reached out to help him. He refused to trust anyone and had to be sedated for medical to stitch up his wounds and keep him alive. It had taken time and tact to get Clint to trust him enough to talk to him. Coulson hadn’t agreed to be his handler without knowing it would be difficult. A year in, Phil knew Clint still didn’t 100% trust him but he was willing to put the time in. 

“Clint, I really want you to stay here. I hope you feel safe here one day, maybe even happy. I won’t stop you from leaving if that’s what you really want, but just know that I’ve got your back.” Phil stood up, pulling his tie back on with his eyes fixed on Clint. They stood in silence for a few minutes, Clint moving first. He pulled his bag out of the vent, throwing it on the ground and wiping his face. 

“I’m gonna go down to see Dr.Mathers.”

Phil was sure that his answering smile was blinding. In 12 months, Clint had never gone to therapy by his own choice. Usually, Phil had to drag him down the corridor and wait outside the door. This was a massive step. He unlocked the door, holding it open for his agent. 

“I’ll walk you down Barton. We can grab a snack on the way.” He closed the door behind them and they strolled through the halls. “You like pizza, Barton?” 

“Oh, man. Don’t get me started.”


End file.
